


Paradox

by Maedelmae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Not A Fix-It, On Hiatus, Time Travel, Torture, honestly, i might finish it, its been awhile since i looked at this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 03:06:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maedelmae/pseuds/Maedelmae
Summary: The summer before sixth year, he loses everything. Then he loses more.Drifting through the sands of time, Harry finds himself at Hogwarts in the 1940's face to face with his sworn enemy, not that Tom knows this.This follows the two falling in love with each other through the differences they hold.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gang gang, boys and people who aren't boys, It's been a good year since I've looked at this fic. I full outlined it and everything, so I think that I might eventually finish this, but the cards aren't looking so great right now with the stuff I've got going on in my life. 
> 
> With that being said, I hope y'all like this story. As I said, it has been a year since I looked at it, and I've vastly improved since then so I don't expect it to be my greatest work.

Chapter 1   
Harry was past his breaking point. It was several weeks into the summer after the fiasco that was the raid on the ministry. He was sitting in his cupboard as it was reverted back to being his at the start of the summer break. He supposed that he really didn’t like being in the cupboard after having been in it most of his small life, but it was familiar and comforting to him, if a little cramped. He knew that it wasn’t right that he was in the cupboard, but after what happened in the ministry he figured he deserved it. He couldn’t even think about that without his eyes burning with tears.   
His entire body hurt after the last beating. Uncle Vernon had started beating him without cause, but that’s not new, he just stopped for a short period and then returned full stop. Surprisingly, Dudley had decided to leave him alone. Harry didn’t know why, but he wasn’t about ask him in case it was a temporary thing and he accidently incurred his wrath. He was starting to get pins and needles in his leg from sitting in the same position too long. He shifted his leg out from under him. His still healing whip marks twinged and he grimaced and settled back down. The spiders that had surrounded him in his childhood had made a reappearance, providing him with company in his more delirious moments after too much blood loss. He sighed, not only bored out of his mind, but in pain both mentally and physically.   
He heard the doorknob on the front door jiggle about and figured uncle vernon was coming home after a (most likely) easy day at work. He sighed again in resignation before trying to sit up straighter. He held in a groan at the effort. He stopped suddenly. The door knob was still jiggling. Vernon never took this long. He pushed himself into the smallest corner from the door to the cupboard and held his breath as the front door busted open and he heard the voices of what he supposed were wizards because of their conversation. He waited in terror as the door to his cupboard darkened for a second before the shadow moved on. These were death eaters, he could feel it. He didn’t want to believe he had been found, but he couldn’t give it up anymore. Maybe if they killed him, he would get to see them again.   
He must have waited for ten minutes and the death eaters still hadn’t found him, maybe they didn’t think the boy-who-lived would ever be beaten, starved, and shoved into a cupboard. He almost laughed at that. He heard a couple people stop outside of his door.   
“Where do you think the little shit is?” asked one.  
“How the bloody hell would I know? All I know is that he isn’t in this god forsaken house.”  
“Where have we not checked yet?” There was a moment of silence and they must’ve just noticed the door. And as he predicted, the lock clicked out of place and the door squeaked open. A hooded head poked in and saw the lower half of his body before grinning wickedly. He grabbed Harry’s foot and yanked him out of the dark, tight embrace of safety it had always provided him. He grimaced as freshly closed wounds reopened and started bleeding sluggishly. The first death eater that had spoken yelled that they found him. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. The two wizards crouched down and grabbed his hair before yanking him out of the house and apparating.  
He didn’t know where they landed, but the atmosphere wasn’t pleasant to say the least. The air smelled stale with a faint tinge of blood and rot. He vomited on one of the death eaters before he could do anything to stop it, not that he was going to. He got kicked in the stomach for that. He puked more, though after going so long without food, it was mostly bile that burned his throat. He was thrown on the floor, in a puddle of something he was unable to make out. He didn’t try to get up, his body hurt too much. Somebody grabbed his arm and wrenched it forward, effectively dislocating it. He yelped as he was dragged on the dirty floor.   
After what seemed like forever, he was thrown back down. He heard hissing nearby and figured the jig was up, Voldemort was gonna torture and kill him. Another death eater grabbed his hair and pulled him up, kicking the back of his knee as he rose, putting him in a kneeling position. Harry’s face was carefully blank except for the hatred towards everyone in the room he couldn’t suppress. Voldemort sat before him in all his ugly, noseless glory. The snake-like man laughed before standing and walking over to Harry.   
“The famous Harry Potter, reduced to the bumbling, bleeding mess that I am seeing in front of me. Oh how the mighty have fallen!” He laughed some more and demanded the others laugh along. They laughed and Voldemort turned back Harry. “You may have felt pain before, I made sure of that, but you’ve never felt anything like this.” Voldemort backed up and grabbed his wand before turning around with his wand pointed at Harry. “Crucio!” The snake man screamed. The burst of red light hit Harry straight on as a wave of pain more intense than that of Vernon’s beatings ripped through him. Harry screamed in pain. His vision blurred even more, he fell to the ground and clawed at his skin.   
Voldemort ended the spell and looked amused as the boys nose and eyes started to bleed. He looked around to the others in the room. “Any suggestions?” Shouts ran throughout the room.  
“Sectumsempra!”  
“The blood boiling curse!”  
“The skin peeling curse!”  
“Bleed him out and then replenish his blood repeatedly!”   
“The organ expelling curse!”  
“Now, now, we are civilized, are we not?” He pointed at somebody, “Dolohov, what should we do?” Antonin Dolohov smiled evilly as he took a second to think of most likely the worst thing to do to him.   
“Perhaps, my lord, we follow Rookwoods suggestion and use the blood boiling curse.”  
“Excellent thinking, Dolohov.” Voldemort turned to Harry before casting the spell and watching as Harry jolted and jumped around feverishly, clawing his skin to try and relieve the pain.   
“FOOLISH BOY! NOTHING WILL END THIS PAIN FOR YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? YOUR LIFE IS FORFEIT TO MY SHEER POWER.” He ended the curse, not wanting Harry to lose his mind. He needed information after all, and he wanted to try out a new spell that was supposed to trap somebody in an existence of never ending pain.  
Harry could feel nothing beyond the pain. Somebody grabbed his hair and dragged him to a chair before he was thrown on it and restrained. Another death eater poured a potion down his throat, his head momentarily cleared before he realized what was happening. Dolohov approached with a vial of clear liquid and yanked Harry’s head back before squeezing his jaw to open his mouth. Three drops of the potion was administered and his head was filled with cotton instead of pain. He was dosed with Veritaserum.  
“Tell me, what is your full name?”   
“Hadrian Fleamont Potter-Black,” A couple of the death eaters looked scandalized.   
“When were you born?”   
“July 31, 1980,” He responded slowly, not sure what they wanted from him, this was all common knowledge.   
“Where is the rest of the order of the phoenix?”   
“The people who are still alive are at Hogwarts with Dumbledore,” he said, regretting every second he was told anything important.  
“I need a list of everyone in the order, alive and recently deceased.”  
“Sirius Black, deceased. Remus Lupin, deceased. Emmeline Vance, alive. Alastor Moody, deceased. Kingsley Shacklebolt, deceased. Arabella Figg, deceased. Albus Dumbledore, alive. Fleur Delacour, alive. Aberforth Dumbledore, deceased. Mundungus Fletcher, alive. Nymphadora Tonks, deceased. Arthur Weasley, deceased. Molly Weasley... deceased. Bill Weasley, alive. Charlie Weasley, alive. Severus Snape, deceased.”   
“Anything else of import, regarding the order?”   
“They are still planning from inside Hogwarts.”  
“Thank you for betraying your friends!” The antidote was administered and Harry gasped. He slumped down in shame. Everybody left was just betrayed. He just betrayed them. He couldn’t stop the tears from falling.  
After the fiasco with the potion, Harry was thrown back on the ground and crucio-ed. He was in so much pain that he could barely register it as his body thrashed around without his consent. Finally, Voldemort came into his blurred line of sight with sparkling gold dust that Harry didn’t recognize. The dust was poured into a circle around him and then thrown on him. The dust mildly burned but he couldn’t do anything about it. Voldemort, when finished with the odd dust, stepped back and drew his wand. He pointed it at Harry and with the worst look in his eyes, cast the killing curse.

.oOo.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
Outside the grounds of Hogwarts, a bloodied body was found. Luckily, the boy was still alive but barely. Filius, the one who found him, called the Deputy Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore to the scene. When the deputy headmaster arrived, it was to a ghastly sight. A small boy about the age of 12 was convulsing on the ground. His eyes and nose were bleeding as were the many lacerations marking his body. A strange golden dust seemed to burn into parts on his skin. His clothes were little more than rags and he was unhealthily thin. He quickly turned to Filius and told him to rush to the infirmary and tell madam Pomfrey to prepare for a troubling patient.   
Dumbledore levitated the young boy and walked carefully to the infirmary. Every minute or so, the boy would whimper in pain and Dumbledore tried to not think about what this boy had been through. When he reached the infirmary, Poppy Pomfrey rushed up to him and took the boy, immediately taking action and stabilizing him. She cast a diagnosis charm when he was placed on a bed. The scroll kept growing longer and longer until it reached four feet. She hurriedly grabbed several potions and got to work healing him as Dumbledore stood there pondering the child. Where could he have come from? Who attacked him? Was he attacked by Grindelwald? He sure hoped it wasn’t Grindelwald. The wounds on the poor boy were ghastly and he hoped he recovered. He conjured a chair to sit down as he watched Poppy work.   
It took an hour for the boy to stabilize, and even then, tremors would periodically wrack his body and shudder. He was placed in a medically induced coma and Poppy sighed before turning to Dumbledore.   
“Where did you find this boy?” Her tone was rising on hysterics and Dumbledore didn’t want to upset her by saying the wrong thing.   
“Filius found him outside of the grounds. He was like this when I arrived.” Poppy looked back down at the boy and made a decision.   
“Albus, this boy was brutally tortured and starved. His growth will be stunted, and there is certain damage and scars that are irreparable. The fact of the matter is, I’m surprised he is even alive.”  
“Do you know what kind of torture? I need to know how to help the boy and I don’t want to ask him to relive trauma when he wakes up.”  
“He shows signs of being the victim of the cruciatus curse. It must have been cast on him for several times. His shoulder was yanked out of it’s socket, he’s taken a myriad of dangerous potions.” They both sat in silence. Poppy cast a monitoring charm on the lad and walked back to her office. Dumbledore took one last look at the boy and went to the headmaster’s office to tell him the news.   
Two week later, the boy was finally thrown out of his magically induced coma. He shot up from his lying position with a squeal of terror and fell out of the bed. Madam Pomfrey rushed over to the boy, hearing the squeal and thud. She lifted the boy into the bed and tucked him back in, giving him a pitiful look.   
“Are you alright dear?” Harry’s eyes started tearing up, he was saved. He tried to lean forward to hug her in relief, he couldn’t quite move well enough to reach her, so she got closer to him and embraced him. He clutched on to her and didn’t let go until his arms were too weak to keep up the hug.   
“Dear me, child, what’s wrong?” she asked, confused as to why the child would hug her of all people.   
“Ma-” His throat was raw and burning, “madam, what… happened?” He had to pause to give his throat rest.   
“I should be asking you that child, Now, before we do, my name is madam Pomfrey. I need to ask you some questions, is that alright with you?” She conjured up a chair before sitting down. “Please don’t feel as though you have to answer any of these questions, it is important that you feel safe here.” She conjured up a scroll at the boy’s nod and started.  
“What is your name? I can’t keep calling you child.” Harry stared at her in disbelief, didn’t she know who he was?   
He had known Madam Pomfrey from his first visit to the hospital wing in first year. What if it was all a trick? What if something went wrong and nobody remembered him? He didn’t think he could bare meeting all of his associates and them not remember him. He made a decision. He was going to start over. If nobody remembered him, then he needed to come up with a new identity. He needed to know one more thing.   
“Madam… what is… the date?”  
“It is August 26, 1943.” Harry stared at her in disbelief. It was 1943? He needed a new identity. He didn’t want to be found out as a time traveler. He didn’t even know how he got here. He used his quick thinking and figured that he should be foreign. If he wasn’t native, then nobody would know him. He knew how to speak French and Russian, but he didn’t know Russian as well. If he was french, then he needed a french name. Hadrian was good, it was his full name, but it sounded more refined than Harry. The only french person he knew was Fleur, so he supposed he could just use her last name. Did he need a middle name? He should make a middle name. What was it that Fleur used to call him? It was Abelino, it’s perfect. Hadrian Abelino Delacour.   
“My name… is Hadrian… Abelino Delacour.” He said quietly, unsure how Madam Pomfrey would react. She just nodded and wrote it down.   
“How old are you Hadrian?”  
“I’m sixteen.” He blushed when she gave him a disbelieving look. He knew he was small, but he didn’t think he would be mistaken for a younger person, everybody back home knew who he was, how old he was, his friends, his relationships, his grades, everything.   
“You are definitely not where you need to be health wise then.” She stood up and grabbed a potion. He recognized it as an advanced nutrition potion. He took it before handing the vial back to her. She vanished it and sat back down, writing something on a sheet of parchment.  
“Where are you from?  
“France.”  
“Do you have any relatives or friends? Somebody that could come and take you into their custody?” Harry looked at the near wall and shook his head.   
“Nobody.” He blinked away a few tears.   
“What do you mean nobody?” she asked. Harry took a deep breath and admitted something he hadn’t yet come to terms with himself.   
“They’ve all died. They’re dead.”   
After the interrogation, Poppy gave him a dreamless sleep potion. He took it without question and slipped gratefully into unconsciousness. Poppy looked at the boy and sighed. He had already faced such tragedy at such a young age. She summoned Dumbledore and Dippet to her office to review what she was just told.   
When they arrived, they went over to the boy first to see what could possibly be wrong. Nothing looked out of sorts. The sleeping boy looked better than he had the whole time he was in a coma. The two wizards made their way over to Poppy’s office.   
“What’s the news on the boy, has he woken up yet?”   
“Yes, the boy woke up an hour ago. His name is Hadrian Abelino Delacour, he is sixteen from France and he has no family or friends,” she explained sadly.   
“What are we going to do with him?” Dippet asked.   
“The boy has nowhere to go, I don’t know why or how he showed up here, but maybe we should let him attend school here.” Dumbledore suggested.   
“I agree with Albus, the boy is too weak to be turned out. I’d like to keep an eye on him as long as possible.”   
“You both have good points, the boy will be allowed to attend, but first I’d like to meet him. Next time he is awake, please notify us immediately.” Poppy nodded. The two left the hospital wing.   
The next time Hadrian woke up, it was to a stormy day. The harsh woosh sound of the rain was soothing. He couldn’t help but think of the first day of fourth year, or the quidditch storm in third. Madam Pomfrey walked over to him and explained that she had summoned the headmaster and deputy headmaster. He nodded and wiggled his way into a more comfortable position after Madam made him take three potions and drink a glass of water. She then presented him with a light breakfast. Having not eaten for five days, he was starving, literally, but he knew from experience to take it slow.   
The headmaster and deputy headmaster walked in fifteen minutes later. Hadrian was still lying down, on Madam Pomfrey’s orders. They made their way over to his bed and conjured up some chairs.   
“Hello Hadrian,” Dumbledore started “I am Deputy headmaster Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts: school of witchcraft and wizardry. I am also the transfiguration professor and head of the house of Gryffindor.”   
“I am the Headmaster of this fine establishment, Armando Dippet. It is nice to meet you in these odd circumstances.”  
“I am Hadrian Abelino Delacour, it is a pleasure.” Hadrian had used a thick french accent, he didn’t want people to find him out due to a rookie mistake.  
“Well Hadrian,” Headmaster Dippet spoke, “We have decided that it would be best for all involved parties if you attended Hogwarts this year. However, we have some questions.” Hadrian was excited at the prospect of going to Hogwarts, even if the situation was different.   
“First, Have you had any prior schooling before this, and if so, what level are you at?” Hadian figured he would’ve gone to beauxbatons. Thank god he was such good friends with Fleur. She and him had talked about the history of their schools when they ran out of things to talk about. The headmaster Acel Durand had recently been killed. It was perfect.  
“I was at Beauxbatons for five years, However, the headmaster recently was murdered. It is no longer safe there. In british school years, I would be in year six.” The headmaster and deputy headmaster shared a look.  
“Well then, you mentioned to Poppy you didn’t have any friends or family, what about personal belongings?”  
“I’m afraid that while fleeing, I left everything behind, even my wand, when I came back later, it was all gone.” He sniffed, eyes watering. “I don’t have a single thing in my name.”  
“Well dear boy, lucky for you, we have a fund for orphans of the war, you can get whatever you need within reason.”  
“Thank you Monsieur Dumbledore, Monsieur Dippet.”

.oOo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as far as I got, so sorry if you just got emotionally invested in this story. 
> 
>  
> 
> As I said earlier, I might continue writing this when I get the inspiration, but for now it will stay like this.
> 
> Thank you for reading this even though it probably sucks :)

Chapter 3  
When Tom Riddle started sixth year, he did not anticipate anything that was currently happening. Headmaster Dippet had announced that there was a new student transferring in from Beauxbatons. He sat straighter, anticipating the arrival of a transfer student. Orion Black next to him whispered,  
“I wonder what house the transfer student will be placed in.”  
“I just hope they’re gorgeous, all french people are. Maybe they’re a slut too,” Maximian Lestrange said. Tom was disgusted by the boys thought process.   
“Whoever it is, they better not try and change the order of things around here.” Walburga Black said from further down the table.   
“Do you reckon it’s a bird, or not?” said Beowulf Nott, elbowing his friend Atticus Yaxley.   
“I hope it’s a bird,” Yaxley snickered.   
Tom ignored them and looked at where the first years were gathered. They had just been sorted and he was uncaring as to who went where, but he did notice an abundance of gryffindors. Most likely a product of war.   
“Please welcome Hadrian Delacour to hogwarts!” Dippet announced. So the transfer student was male.  
A small boy that looked to be twelve stepped up and started towards the stool. His hair was inky black and wild, his eyes were bright green, his skin, pale and scarred. He seemed to be swimming in the uniform even though it looked to be his size. He sat down on the stool and Dumbledore placed the sorting hat on his head. After a few minutes, it announced very loudly   
“SLYTHERIN!” To say Tom was shocked would be an exaggeration. If anything, he was mildly pleased, until the boy sat with the sixth year students instead of with the second years. He figured the boy must be confused as to where to sit.   
“Aren’t you a little young to be sitting down here?” Violet Parkinson spoke. The boy shook his head and in a very thick accent, said  
“I am in sixth year.” His voice was quiet and airy.   
“Why are you so small then?” Tom heard Nott say. Delacour just looked off into space as if contemplating the answer like it was the answer to a crucial question.   
“Genetics I guess,” He said.   
The boy turned an ear to the speech that Headmaster Dippet was delivering before turning back to the table the second the food appeared. He didn’t grab much to eat, and when a potion popped up next to his goblet, he took it without looking. Tom resigned himself to watching the boy out of the corner of his eye. He was sorted in Slytherin, so that meant he was ambitious and cunning. He didn’t think the boy was all that cunning as he watched him sit with his knees brought up, hands resting on them, his head tilted sideways resting on his crossed hands. The other Slytherins were also getting a feel for the boy, asking him inane questions and staring at his scars.   
Tom thought the boy was very odd. His behaviour was only part of it. The other, more important part, is that he seemed to know where to go. He walked with the first years down to the Slytherin common room and practically led the way. Tom didn’t try and stop him, but simply watched in almost wonder as the boy who had never been to Hogwarts before was leading the way to a common room that most of the school didn’t know the location of. When they made it to the entrance of the common room, delacour paused and tilted his head before stepping back to let Tom speak to the first years (and Delacour). He gave the same speech he has been doing for two years. Don’t give anyone the password (Toujours pur), don’t tell anyone where the common room is (across from the portrait of Lady Slytherin).   
When Hadrian reached the common room, he was given another speech that sounded scripted. He stared around at the room. He had been here back in second year when he was polyjuiced as Vincent Goyle, but he was very nervous and non observant in that situation. He hadn’t noticed the big window that looked out into the Black lake. Nor had he noticed the large amount of overstuffed armchairs and large pile of throw pillows. He could just see himself living in those pile of pillows. He tuned out from the speech that Tom Riddle was giving. It was hard for him to see the younger version of his number one enemy. He supposed he had seen him in second year, but he was more concerned with getting away alive. He had mixed feelings about Tom Riddle. Rationally, he knew that Tom hadn’t done anything yet, but in his heart he couldn’t discount that he had done it in the future. He was in this situation because of his future self. He sighed and listened as Tom Riddle droned on about not disappointing the house of Salazar.   
On the way to the dorm, Tom had his first first-hand encounter with the mysterious Delacour. The boy was rather small, his head only coming up to Tom’s chest. He was bird like in a way, his sharp features were seemingly delicate and his messy back hair defied gravity. The scars on the boy however, told a different story. There were only a few visible scars, a cut through his eyebrow and a realistic lightning bolt scar on his forehead. His hands were cut up and one had some writing cut into them. The boy didn’t try to hide them, or even acknowledge them in any way. They were old scars. Delacour walked next to him silently as they made their way to the sixth year boys dorms.   
“Bonjour, I am Hadrian Delacour.” He held his hand out, “Nice to meet you.” Tom looked at him for a second before responding.  
“Tom Riddle, it’s nice to meet you too.” He accepted the handshake and continued on to enter the room.   
“This is your bed Delacour, if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask me. We usually wake up at 6:45 to get ready to go down to breakfast.” The smaller boy nodded before climbing into his bed and closing the curtain. Tom got ready for bed and fell asleep shortly afterward. 

.oOo.

The next morning, Hadrian was the first awake, having woken at 5:30 instead of the 6:45 he had been suggested. He couldn’t help it though. He had another nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep. This nightmare was about the Department of Mysteries. He shuddered to think about it and was grateful he had placed silencing charms around his bed before falling asleep. He looked at his new wand, thirteen inches with cherry wood, thestral hair, and basilisk blood as the core. He loved his new wand, it was almost a better fit than his holly and phoenix feather wand.   
When he was done getting ready, he descended down to the common room and buried himself in the pillows. Nobody else was awake or down here, so why couldn’t he indulge himself. He sighed as he sunk deeper into the mountain of fluff. When he was completely submerged, he decided that this was a great opportunity to work on his occlumency. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he entered his mindscape.   
His mindscape took the shape of a library. This brought him great comfort as he spent most of fourth and fifth year in the library as well as several years in his childhood when dudley would chase him with the intentions of harming a much smaller and weaker Harry.   
In his mindscape, he had memories sorted out into books depending on what sort of memory it was. The space curved around a fireplace and was very cosy. This was also a comfort to Harry as he despised wide open spaces due to his battle ridden life. He focused mainly on sorting through a large pile of books, putting each different ‘book’ memory onto a shelf with others similar to it.   
When Harry emerged from his mindscape, it was to the discovery that it was 7:00. He had spent over an hour in his mindscape, giving him a relaxed mood that he knew would carry into the rest of the day, at least he hoped so. 

.oOo.

Tom had woken up at 6:30 that morning. He had hoped to catch Delacour before he woke up, but his efforts were for nought as the mysterious boy was not in his bed when Tom went to wake him up. This was greatly irritating to the taller boy as he was wanting the Delacour boy to become dependent on him, like that of his knights.   
He made his way down to the common room to read before he had to go down to the great hall for breakfast. Tom had just settled on the couch across from the mound of pillows when he noticed a tuft of black hair sticking out of the pile. He slowly got up and lifted a pillow seeing none other than Hadrian Delacour unconscious and submerged. The taller boy smirked before replacing the pillow and sitting back on the couch, waiting to see how long it took before Delacour would get up.


End file.
